


All gods lie (and die)

by uqune



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Consequences, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Deity Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Deity Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, L'manberg is still kind of a mess but it's getting better, Not Beta Read, Post-Canon, Post-War, Spoilers, Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot gives a history lesson, Worldbuilding, everyone is a god or a demi-god in a way, l'manberg, sadly dream doesn't like history lessons, we die like schlatt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28181580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uqune/pseuds/uqune
Summary: "Why do you lie, Dream?" Wilbur's voice is eerily soft, "why didn't you tell everyone?""Tell what?""Don't play stupid with me now. A lie by omission is still a lie. Why did I need to die to find out there are no gods up there, when you knew it when I was alive?""You didn't need to die," Dream's voice is firm, but there's a faint tone of uncertainty, somewhere, "you chose to."Or, where Wilbur starts to remember, and Dream's secrets are no longer hidden.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Clay | Dream/Consequences, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 365





	1. Hello, Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarcasticarmy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticarmy/gifts).



"Hello, Dream."

The prison walls are cold to the touch. A bright green figure sitting in a cage with no way out, dark purple walls around him, unmoving, untouchable.

Dream looks perplexed. "Wilbur?"

The floating man smiles, adjusting his beanie. _Ugly ass beanie_ , Dream thinks. _Along with that ugly ass bloody sweater_. (This isn't a figure of speech; where sword met skin rests a stain of blood— Wilbur's blood.) "I always knew you were kind of mean, but I never expected you to pay the price for your deeds." Wilbur's voice is crooked and creaky, with a tinge of sadness. 

Dream hates the sound of it.

It's not that this is a new emotion colouring his voice, no— ever since Wilbur came back as a ghost, his way he carried himself was tragic, for a lack of better term, which contrasted the living Wilbur, with sharp words, unwavering confidence and loud laughs.

Tragic. Hah.

Ghostbur is like most ghosts Dream has met: melancholic and fragile.

Except, he isn't fragile anymore, just sad, as he stands in front of Dream.

"I am." Dream answers. "I mean the paying the price part. I don't think I'm mean— I'm awesome and unlike anyone else."

Wilbur smiles. "Unlike anyone else," he parrots, "as in being invincible?"

"Well, maybe not that. I'm imprisoned, which is not someone invincible would be."

Bitterness courses through his veins. He is. He is imprisoned, and they took everything from him: his armor, trident, and everything else he held dear. They burnt down his home, killed his animals.

They took his mask.

"You don't die." Wilbur notes.

"Unlike you."

Wilbur's tone is even sadder now, "Yes, unlike me."

The walls around Dream feel so infinitely large. 

"How were you able to come here, anyway?" 

"I'm a ghost," Wilbur's words sounding more like a question than a statement. "And I wanted to visit you." Dream can translate the meaning of the words well: _the living cannot touch me, and the idea of you enticed me; I will do what I want to when I deem it appropriate_.

Dream can read between the lines, yes, but believing it is another story.

"You, Wilbur Soot, wanted to visit me."

"I, Wilbur Soot, wanted to visit you, regardless of how mean you are."

He doesn't look tired, these days, Dream notes— his skin, while still a sickly shade of grey, looks warmer than it did before, the dark circles under his eyes gone. His sweater is a more vibrant yellow than before. 

The blood on his sweater is still there, though.

 _I caused that_ , Dream distantly thinks, _I caused the end of Wilbur Soot_.

He doesn't feel sorry.

"Why do you want to keep a mean person company?"

"So that you wouldn't be bored." Wilbur smiles, as if that's self-explanatory.

"The guards keep me company, actually." Dream bitterly says. Guards of a prison he paid to be built, guards he recruited, guards that talk. It's a miracle they talk to him, really; Dream is a cruel man, he knows, and he entirely deserves isolation, yet they decide he's worth their time. 

"Are they allowed to do that?"

"Probably not."

"But who are you to tell them off. Of course." Wilbur smiles. "Perfectly understandable reason."

Dream nods and they lapse into silence, the ghost hovering before him. The room is bare, with obsidian walls surrounding them. There's a mat on the floor. A stinky, uncomfortable ass mat where he sleeps on every night, or day, because time doesn't exist between walls that don't let know of what is outside.

That's why it works so well.

Dream is sitting against the wall, and Wilbur moves to sit next to him. The latter opens his mouth once, twice, and Dream lets him. _Spit it out_ , he wants to yell at the ghost, _what do you want to say so badly that it can't even leave the realms of your mind_.

But he doesn't yell, and Wilbur figures it out on his own, saying:

"Did you know that after dying I went up there? To see what was there."

"And?"

"It make me think that God didn't exist." he sighs, and Dream feels a spark in his stomach.

 _No_.

"I was right, in that sense; this universe doesn't have one god. It has multiple."

All air escapes Dream's lungs.

"Gods aren't made to die, are they?" Wilbur says, not waiting for an answer. "Humans… humans are, of course, they're mortal, after all. They live to die."

 _They live to die_.

The ghost switches topics with much ease, not letting Dream fully register the words he just said, "L'manberg is having internal conflicts again. Politics are messy."

"Humans are messy. L'manberg will forever be a mess."

Wilbur chuckles. "Yes, they are. Fundy and Phil have been keeping me company, and we've talked about things I don't like to talk about."

"About how you blew it up, you mean."

"That, for one," he cringes, "and why I wanted to blow it up in the first place. Did you... did you know that I said "the thing you built L'manberg for doesn't exist anymore" in the control room? Like, minutes before my death."

Dream tilts his head. Out of all things that bother him the most in his prison aren't the walls, but the fact that his expression is completely _out there_ , the lack of a mask exposing him to the world. Right now, though, he enjoys that Wilbur can see his raised eyebrow that is meant to mock him. "I am inclined to agree with that statement. It doesn't."

"I built walls around it to protect my son, back then. From you."

"You did, and those walls are now gone."

"Yes, because he no longer needs protection."

"From me."

"I wasn't a very good dad," Wilbur talks and talks and talks, "I wasn't there for him when he needed me to be—"

"To be fair, you were _exiled_."

"— even before everything went to shit. I wasn't there for him before that, and I wish I was."

"It's not too late; you're here, you can, I don't know, _talk_ to him."

Dream isn't sure why he's saying all of this. Is he chasing entertainment? A mind to toy around with? Is he... _comforting_ Wilbur?

"Am I though?" the echo in his words impossibly far.

Being a ghost isn't a blessing, Dream knows. It's empty and unforgiving, just like his imprisonment. It's the world's way of making Wilbur pay for his sins. An unnecessarily cruel one, he thinks, too close to be forgotten, yet too far to be remembered.

"… fair enough." 

Wilbur barks out a laugh. "He talked to me more than I did to him, wrote some stuff down for me too, made me build a couple things with Phil."

"That sounds nice."

"It was, but it also made me remember."

Dream's blood runs cold. No no no _no no no_ —

"Why do you lie, Dream?" Wilbur's voice is eerily soft, "why didn't you tell everyone?"

"Tell what?"

"Don't play stupid with me now. A lie by omission is still a lie. Why did I need to die to find out there are no gods up there, when you knew it when I was alive?"

"You didn't need to die," Dream's voice is firm, but there's a faint tone of uncertainty, somewhere, "you chose to."

"You are so stubborn." Wilbur crosses his arms.

"My best trait, is it not?"

"No."

"Agree to disagree."

" _No_ ," he huffs out, "why are you like this?" Wilbur's tone is exasperated, yet somehow still fond. Dream hates his croaky, fond voice. He hates every inch of his kindness.

He hates that Wilbur knows. That the ghost knows that he knows.

"I don't know."

In an instant, Wilbur's floating form stands in front of him. "You do."

"I do," Dream gives in without much thought, "but that doesn't mean I want to say it."

The ghost laughs for the nth time. "Fair enough. I'll be back."

"You're leaving?" he raises both his eyebrows.

"You bore me," Wilbur says, "I hope that when I return we can have a proper conversation, one where you actively participate as well."

"I've been an active participant in this conversation." Dream mutters.

"Yes, actively _avoidant_. As I said, you bore me."

Dream shrugs. What else is there to say. "Alright. Goodbye, then, I guess?"

Wilbur adjusts his beanie, and smiles. He looks so impossibly empty, yet more alive than ever. (Contradictions, contrasts; the unknown is interesting to describe, and the known is made to make fun of) "Goodbye, Dream," he says, waving, and when Dream blinks, he's gone.

 _I'm boring now_ , Dream thinks. He's boring, forgettable. Unworthy of a ghost's time.

The prison walls have never felt this warm before.


	2. Goodbye, Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mortal love is terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I write a dialogue-heavy fic why why why why why why why
> 
> Hope you enjoy this mess of a fic!

The guards stop talking to Dream. About a week passes. Wilbur returns.

"Took you long enough." the former mutters, and to his surprise, he sounds relieved.

Wilbur gives him a long, odd look. "It's almost like you missed me, Dream." _Glad to know I am worthy enough to be missed_ , stays unsaid. 

Dream hates this. He hates how the two of them can pick each other apart in a way that shoots a shiver of caution up his spine; the way time stands still between them, that in the long run, their interactions don't matter— love that ends is more valuable than love that won't ever die— the people of L'manburg will die and forget, and Dream will stay in this prison until the walls around him rot away.

"I didn't miss you completely," Dream sighs, the tiniest of smiles tracing his lips, and adds, "your hair is curlier than before" as an afterthought.

"It is. I'm becoming more alive, can you believe that? I fear that I don't have much time left."

(Ghosts are so unbelievably _sad_. Dream hopes he doesn't have to interact with another in the near future.)

"There is nothing to fear; being a ghost is painful, you should be happy that you can rest."

"It is painful," Wilbur looks down to where Dream's laying, on his stinky mat, "I melt in the rain and burn in the snow, and the people in L'manburg can't look me in the eyes. Tommy threw a bucket of water at me yesterday, yelling at me to go away."

"Is that why you're here? Because your family hates you?"

"I am here to punish the one who did this to my brother— no, _brothers_. Family. Friends. This is your fault."

Dream scoffs. "There's not much punishing you can do. I admit that I fucked up your brother, okay? Singular. I fucked up wrong and messed up his head and maybe gave him PTSD— that's entirely on me! I get it, but…"

"But?" Wilbur's tone is tense, angry even.

(Ghosts rarely get angry.)

"But it isn't all my fault."

Sparks of energy fill the room, and Dream feels like he's choking on the dreadful atmosphere alone. The temperature drops lower with every second, and Wilbur's eyes are no longer a deep grey that looks through you; they're a violent shade of red. "You ruined my brothers. You killed my friends. You created chaos. You caused my death. I am dead because of _you_."

"You are dead because you blew up your newly reclaimed country!" Dream frantically says, "And then begged your father to kill you! What's not clicking?"

"I am dead because of you." The ghost repeats.

"That's a blatant… a blatant lie."

"I am dead because of you."

" _What difference does it make if you are_?" Dream whisper-shouts and the temperature in the room returns to normal in a second.

"Ah, great!" Wilbur smiles, and Dream feels another sense of dread fill his lungs. (Someone must've thrown a lingering potion of poison, and he's breathing it in, he thinks.) "You are less boring today."

"That's…"

"That's wonderful! It means you won't lie today."

"How do you know I will not lie? I can simply tell you the things you want to hear and get on with my life."

Wilbur grins, "because I already know all of it."

Dream's throat runs dry.

"Then why are you asking?"

"I'm bored," Wilbur says this in the same tone as the last time he visited, but a bit more self-assured this time— _I know you are different, than everyone else, and I will make use of it _.__

__"You said I bore you."_ _

__Wilbur rolls his eyes and readjusts his beanie. "You bore me when I lie. If you don't— well, I think you'd make a great storyteller, wouldn't you?"_ _

__"I doubt that."_ _

__"Hm," he's picking Dream apart with his eyes, weaknesses and worries, anger and fears, "no rush; I can talk."_ _

__"You said you didn't have much time left."_ _

__Wilbur gives him a funny look. "Do you know why ghosts stay?"_ _

__"Why ghosts— what? This is a trick question." Dream knits his eyebrows together in confusion. "You are a ghost," he adds as an afterthought._ _

__He knows why ghosts stay, of course; what he doesn't know why ghost's eyes shine like that, every time they start brewing up another shitstorm to come. Bright and yellow, like the sun above. (Ah, the sun— Dream is slowly forgetting what it looks like. All he sees is dark purple obsidian these days.)_ _

__"Wonderful! Wonderful. You're doing great." Wilbur smiles._ _

__"What?"_ _

__"You're not lying anymore."_ _

__He opts to stay silent. Nothing good can come out of this conversation._ _

__The ghost gives him a beat, one, two, and starts speaking again, "As I said, no rush; I'll be the storyteller today! You're being so interesting today, with your reactions and all."_ _

__Dream blinks, because _what in the hell_. _ _

__"You sound like old Wilbur." Blurts out of his mouth._ _

__"Maybe I am," he answers._ _

__"I—"_ _

__"You."_ _

__Dream clamps his mouth shut._ _

__He misses his mask._ _

__"When I was up there— the place where gods are meant to be, I saw nobody. There wasn't a single soul."_ _

__"Gods can die."_ _

__"Gods can die," Wilbur confirms, "but they aren't meant to."_ _

__Dream gives him a tight-lipped smile._ _

__Wilbur breathes in, out, and finally says the words Dream has dreaded to hear. "You're a god."_ _

__He nods, once. "Barely."_ _

__God and ghost face each other, and realise that they are as powerful as they are powerless. With the realms of life and death so known to them, yet out of reach for them to toy with._ _

__Maybe._ _

__"Barely? Hm, no," Wilbur says, "you're strong enough to kill other gods, after all."_ _

__Dream is trapped. Not between the prison walls— _fuck the prison walls_ — but between Wilbur's words._ _

__"You're good with memories, aren't you? Making people believe things that could never have happened, like, who the hell fucks a fish! A fish named Sally the salmon? I married a _fish_? I had a _child_ with a fucking fish?"_ _

__Dream grins weakly._ _

__"Nobody has two sons with a Samsung Smart Refrigerator! How did you even make others believe that?"_ _

__"If the narrative works, it works."_ _

__"I—" Wilbur laughs so hard he doubles over, " _yikes_ , dude, I'm not even going to question you on that particular choice you made in life."_ _

__Dream shrugs. Who can call it living if he could never really die?_ _

__"I'm going to question you on something else though— don't worry, I've asked you this question before, so you should've had time to mull this over: do you know why ghosts stay?"_ _

___Gods, not this again_ , Dream thinks, _always with the difficult questions, this guy_. "Because they have unfinished business," he answers._ _

__"Exactly! So it's funny that you say that when ordinary humans don't get to take care of unfinished business. Not even after blowing up their entire nation."_ _

__"I think we've established that you are extraordinary, Wilbur Soot. Godlike, even."_ _

__This conversation is a weird one; topics are rapidly changing, logic nowhere to be found. It's an amalgamation of inside jokes and harsh truths and Dream is having difficulties keeping up with it. Wilbur doesn't— he's floating with glee. Very funny._ _

__Hell, he's quite sure Wilbur is questioning for his entertainment, since he is aware of Dream's past, so the latter just plays along._ _

__He's boring now, he remembers, and the obsidian walls don't offer much support in that department. Having a dead guy pry someone open bit by bit is entertaining, even if it's _him_ that is receiving said treatment. _ _

__He's boring now, so he might very well bore himself— Dream couldn't let that happen, could he?_ _

__"Aw, Dream, even in such a situation you are a flirt. Charming."_ _

__"I know."_ _

__"Ask me on a date later?"_ _

__"We'll see."_ _

__The ghost winks; the god grins bitterly in response._ _

__"No rush."_ _

__"That's, like, the hundredth time you've said that. There is a rush, you've finished your business here. There's nothing left for you now."_ _

__Wilbur hums. "Not exactly; you're here," he plays with the hem of his sweater. "Tell me, Dream, because I need to know before my timer runs out: How many gods are there still left?"_ _

__"Very little," Dream winces._ _

__"Now that I already figured out on my own! There's you, right, and then there's Techno— blood for the blood god or some shit, then there's me, because I have a god for a mother, I _think_? Oh, and then there's Tommy, of course, but…"_ _

__"But?"_ _

__"But it's all weird and messed up. I need you to fix it." Wilbur says._ _

__"I thought you remembered?"_ _

__"One can't remember things if one wasn't present when it happened."_ _

__Dream shrugs. "I didn't know Tommy was a god either before it was too late, doubt he knows as well."_ _

__"How do gods not know that they are gods? How does that make sense?"_ _

__The atmosphere is electric. _Old powers_ , Dream muses. Old powers._ _

__"If nobody believes in you, you practically wield no power of the people, but you do wield power over nature," he says, "if you don't believe in yourself, you have to make do of whatever the stars give you."_ _

__Old powers._ _

__"That didn't answer my question."_ _

__"Nobody knew because gods can be killed. Gods can be forgotten. I did both."_ _

__Wilbur eyes Dream with newfound interest. "Are you being forgotten?"_ _

__"Might be. I still believe in myself, you know."_ _

__Ghosts and gods, love and life, bright green and warm yellow and deep purple and grey skin _and_ —_ _

__Dream sighs. "L'manburg is the city of gods, did you know that? Your mother, Wilbur, the mother of you three, she was… powerful."_ _

__"Did you kill her?"_ _

__"I did. I killed your wife too. Your lineage seems to attract gods as old of time."_ _

__"Cruel."_ _

__" _Necessary_ ," Dream interrupts, "gods are selfish and so smart it makes them obtuse. Nothing good comes out a bloodline that is almost entirely inhuman."_ _

__"Cruel," Wilbur says again, and the former huffs in response. It's impossible to argue with ghosts, he swears. "It's one thing to kill. Another is to lie. Why?"_ _

__Old powers and new powers are too similar. Dream doesn't like it._ _

__"I don't want to answer that."_ _

__Mortal love is infinitely more beautiful than immortal love; it's real, it goes, it makes you pour out your soul and leave the world with a smile on your face._ _

__"Why? Is it too painful?"_ _

__Mortal love makes heroes blow up their countries and fathers kill their sons._ _

__"Shut the fuck up." Dream crosses his arms and turns away from Wilbur._ _

___Too painful_. Laughable._ _

__"Don't bore me now, Dream."_ _

__Mortal love makes gods hold on._ _

__"I don't care if I bore you! It's been interesting, but now it's enough. Go run out of time somewhere else, you menace."_ _

__Obsidian walls shake. Wilbur stills behind him. "Hm," he blinks, "you aren't boring, just ordinary."_ _

__Dream answers him with silence._ _

__"Humans like ordinary things."_ _

__"Go away."_ _

__Wilbur chuckles. "Goodbye, Dream."_ _

__"Bye, Wilbur."_ _

__Mortal love was what Dream and George had, once, but now it's gone, because as beautiful as mortal love is, it's also short, and can be broken when held onto too tightly._ _

__George believed in him, and now Dream is sitting in a rotting prison cell._ _

__Love be damned._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me on my [tumblr](https://u9une.tumblr.com/).

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, you two.


End file.
